Accent
by Brittany Lynne Hobbs
Summary: Scotland invites Arthur over for a drink, little does he know his accent is the most irresistible thing to the Brit. Scotland/England. Two-Shot!
1. Accent

**Inspired by Drew Devine's (Werd SOS) newest album "Untitled Scot" (More Specifically, "Drive It Like It's Fuckin' Stolen") and... Well. This idea was born. Enjoy~**

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England was in an extremely uncomfortable situation. There he sat, in Allistor's living room a cup of tea- spiked, of course- in shaking hands, trying to contain himself. The Scotsman had invited him over for a drink, and though Arthur had stuck with tea in a cup, Allistor was drinking straight from the bottle.

Scotland was currently getting into the finer details of a story in which he'd gotten in a drunken fight and kicked someone's ass outside of a pub, and England was hanging onto every word with erotic fascination. The Brit was struggling in his seat, crossing his legs over one another as often as he could without looking conspicuous.

That _accent._

Arthur had one, too, he knew that, but in his mind, it was nothing compared to the one Allistor possessed. The way every syllable slipped off of the Scott's tongue, the tone to each word. It was beautiful, and currently causing him a _growing_ problem. God, it turned him on.

Allistor stood up out of his chair, sighing at the drained bottle dangling from his hand and turning to the kitchen,

"Yeh want anything fer yerself?" he questioned, eyeing the British man sitting on his couch

That was when, for one of the few times in his life, Arthur lost his calm control. The tea-cup fell from his hands and shattered to the floor and Arthur shot up from the couch, taking two large steps across the room and right over to the Scotsman. England pressed two hands to his chest and pushed the other man back up against the wall, not even caring to acknowledge the sound of a bottle dropping to the floor.

"To answer your question, yes." he said, voice thick with anticipation, "You." he said, pressing himself up against the man

Scotland blinked a few times in shock, though a surprised smile quickly crept across his lips, "Why didn't ya just ask fer that when ya got here~?"

Clothes were ripped off and flying across the room before Allistor could say "I'll take a Scotch."


	2. Hell is okay!

**Due to popular demand, I decided to add _one_ more chapter onto this. So it's no longer a one-shot. A two-shot, if there is such a thing. ... And I wanted an excuse to work with our beloved Scotsman again~**

**Disclaimers: I don't own Hetalia or any characters, don't own any of Danny Bhoy's (If you know him, you'll recognize the quotes I used) work. All I claim to is the story line~**

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Not long after the first encounter, there had been... several more to follow. Arthur just couldn't say no. Especially when Allistor had asked him to move in. Well, not exactly. He was still Allistor and it wasn't the big romantic moment, it was more along the lines of, "Eh, yer over here all th' damn time... Why don't ya just live here instead?"

Arthur had bags packed faster than you could say "One more drink."

Of course, their lifestyles were very different. Arthur was more clean-cut- though nothing compared to Germany- and much neater, while Scotland had more of a slacker attitude about it. So there the Brit stood, looking around at clothes strewn everywhere, a pair of Allistor's boxers dangling off of the mantle.

Arthur swallowed thickly, "I'm in hell." he squeaked, nervously poking at what he only _hoped_ was old haggis

At that moment, Allistor stumbled back through the door, still drunk, just getting home from a night out with friends. He'd barely crossed the threshold and closed the door before he started stripping out of clothes, "Cloooothes! Sooo cliiiiingy!" he hissed, pulling his pants down to his knees, shirt already torn open to reveal a beautifully sculpted body.

Arthur simply stood in awe as the other nation finished stripping, boxers barely hanging onto his hips as he found his way into the kitchen, "I need'a drink!" he declared

The Brit simply blinked, repeating his previous statement once more, "I'm in hell." he said, much quieter, "But hell has Scottish men and expensive whiskey, so I'm okay with it."

Arthur was tearing his own clothes off as fast as he could, following his lover into the kitchen, "Don't start without me!"

The last thing you heard from the pair was the seal on a bottle cracking, and the buckle on Arthur's belt clanging as it hit the floor.


End file.
